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May 2, 2015

 

 

and the window of

her soul; double glazed.

To keep out the sound.

To keep in fire, that blazed.

 

and the window of

her heart; single paned.

To gather moisture,

from cheeks, tear stained.

 

and the window of

her mind; thin plastic.

To scratch the surface

of a life, fantastic.

 

and the windows of

her eyes; fresh air.

No defense has she,

for she is not there.

 

 

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Is it anger?

Maybe.

Is it pent up

stress?

Is it

the end result?

Is it

collected mess?

 

Is it

the challenge

of the

high wire?

Is it

nostalgia,

setting

the soul on fire?

 

Is it

a platitude,

said to

fit in?

Is it

roaring passion

hidden

deep within?

 

Is it

life,

in it’s

rawest form?

Is it

the needle

in the eye

of the storm?

 

 

 

 

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March 28, 2015

 

 

Time lingered til

old taxes paid;

from past mistakes,

slow progress made.

 

Some buried deep,

or written off;

most still provide,

a nervous cough!

 

Austerity;

a word they knew;

an empty pot,

where no weeds grew.

 

A single Court

there couldn’t be,

for this double dose

of humility.

 

And when re-called to

the central chamber,

no justice done;

days of hard labour,

 

A reward not seen,

the crime to be fitting,

but with hindsight, proved,

the perfect flitting,

 

when passed onto

a higher being,

who saw more sense,

than they were seeing.

 

And cleared the path

of winters debris;

easing the route,

towards tranquillity.

 

Though, at the time

of deep despair,

no sign was seen

of a life still there. 

 .

The healing process,

ever slow,

but with trust and patience,

good times began to flow.

 

Yet, never forgotten,

or dismissed out of hand,

were desperate times of

foraging, off the land.

 

When dainty damascenes,

the pudding of the day,

and no lucky truffles found,

to ease the way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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March 5, 2015

 

 

and music lulled

the sorrowed soul,

that spun, unchecked

out of control,

 

when modest tasks

too hard to master;

the mind in meltdown

heading towards disaster.

 

Until, at last

words to a tune,

lifted the spirit;

so high the moon.

 

On hearing Meatloaf’s

‘Bat out of hell’

a new day dawned.

All would be well.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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February 1, 2015

 

 

Throw off that blanket

of anonymity, and ride

bare-back into the

unknown.

 

 

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January 14, 2015

 

 

An all fulfilling sacrifice,

worth every penny,

no matter what the price.

 

Effort put in,

thrice over, paid,

in satisfaction’s everglade.

 

 

 

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January 4, 2015

 

 

In the lily pond

of a childhood dream,

lie secret wishes

leading to a stream.

 

As yet, unrealised,

but the outlet there;

waiting for the moment

to lay burdens bare.

 

And shed a skin,

and to life respond;

but first that single step,

out of the lily pond!

 

 

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December 19, 2014

 

 

Weren’t you the one

who battled on,

and showed us resolve,

when hope, all but gone?

 

Weren’t you the one

we replied upon,

and came up trumps,

with the noon day sun?

 

Weren’t you the one,

when, at heavens door,

returned to life and

gave us, that bit more?

 

Weren’t you the one,

who kept us sane,

when in depths of despair,

we felt such pain.

 

Weren’t you the one

Well, it’s our turn now,

and we’ll beat this thing

together somehow!

 

 

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December 17, 2014

 

 

Don’t fight fate,

that served you well,

and brought you from

the gates of hell.

 

Don’t fight fate

that saved the day,

and led you to

a better way.

 

Don’t fight fate;

that open door,

when you were

all but on the floor.

 

Don’t fight fate;

it’s on your side.

It saw your luck

about to slide.

 

Don’t fight fate,

just let it in,

so a new future

can begin.

 

 

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December 15, 2014

 

 

As they approached

Temptation’s Boulevard,

their paths criss-crossed

past Baxters yard,

 

and onward towards

their destination;

each without a thought

or imagination,

 

of how their lives

about to change;

neither sensing fear,

nor feeling strange.

 

Yet wanting more

than was on show,

and needing more

than fire-light’s glow,

 

that was offered on

Temptation’s Boulevard.

A path well trodden;

a well used entry card.

 

A secret promise

to stay away:

A promise broken

every day.

 

A way of life,

this comfort zone.

A habit formed,

no reason known.

 

For one, a way

to easy cash.

For the other, recovery

from the crash.

 

Two worlds collide

on Temptation’s Boulevard,

and hand in hand they run

past Baxter’s yard,

 

into the sunlight

where freedom found;

an escape forever,

from life’s underground

 

 

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